Well, here is my latest effort. It's not the best thing I've ever 

written and it's unbataed, so please treat it kindly. 

Um...Ratings are G but death fic...Pairings are Fraser/Thatcher (what 

else do you expect from me?) I want to thank Amanda for the title. 

I am very bad at thinking up titles, so they usually end up being 

donated by friends. 

Disclaimer: Due South is definitely not mine, but oh the fun I have with
it. 

Warning: There's spoilers for several episodes as well as the whole
series. 

Enjoy!	

I Always Liked the Rain 

Tanya Reed  

 The room was dimly lit by one small lamp on a tiny corner table. It 

splashed gray shadows over the dull white walls and over the pale, 

wrinkled face of its only occupant. She was bent over a chest, her 

aged hands digging through the treasures buried within. 

 Her dark eyes finally found what she was searching for, and Meg 

straightened. A soft smile touched her worn face, lighting it in a 

manner the meager light bulb never could. Trembling hands clasped 

the book to her chest as she walked to the small couch. 

 Sitting, she placed her find on the coffee table near the box that 

had also come from the trunk. Meg sat for a moment, staring at them 

both before running her fingers over them gently. This was all she 

had left. 

 She opened the book first. The old pages crackled and she knew that 

someday they would fall apart from her constant attentions. The 

first page held only one picture, and it made tears prickle her 

eyelids. The reds had faded from the clothing and the corners were 

discolored, but it was still her favorite picture. The photographer 

had managed to somehow capture a perfect moment. The two of them 

were at some formal function, both wearing their dress reds. They 

were standing close together--almost close enough to touch--and each 

had a rare smile on his and her serious face. Meg traced his dimples 

gently, blinking to keep back her tears. 

 Before she lost control, she turned the page to show more yellowed 

pictures. A very tall young man grinned at her from one, and another 

showed two men--one blond and one brunette--with an arm wrapped 

around each other. On the next page, the same brunette was in almost 

the same pose with a balding man with a large nose and amazing green 

eyes. She remembered the way Fraser spoke of his Rays, like they 

were lost puppies. The picture of the wolf sitting alone made Meg 

hug herself. 

 How long? How long had it been since someone had cared about her? 

She couldn't even remember. It must have been then, when these 

pictures were taken. The young faces taunted her with their 

brightness. They had been broken; they had picked themselves up; 

they had moved on. 

 At one time, she had scornfully called those 'the Chicago Years'. 

Those were the years she had been ostracized and forced to run a 

Consulate with two idiot men under her, two idiot men who became 

dearer to her than anyone she had ever known. Meg didn't know until 

it was too late. 

 There was a picture there of the two of them together. Fraser was 

tall but Turnbull was taller, and they were both so handsome. She 

hadn't had a chance to tell them how much she loved them. And the 

Rays. What would they have said if they knew she considered them 

family? It was too late now. It had been too late for fifty years. 

 It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Meg was young and 

hungry. Her desire to make a name for herself was great. When she 

looked on their sweet faces--faces that because of the pictures she 

would see so clearly at night while she tried to sleep--she had seen 

people who tried to hold her back. When they would have reached for 

her, she threw up a wall so thick an ice pick couldn't break through 

it. 

 Ice Queen. The name slashed through her like a knife. Dragon Lady 

she could live with. It had been hers for only months, but Ice 

Queen...She had been the Ice Queen for so long that it had frozen her 

from the outside in, slowly killing the spark that was Meg. 

 She had loved him. She could admit that now, as she sat alone 

looking at his likeness. His handsome face with its eyes that were 

gray or blue by turns and hair that begged her to run her fingers 

through it. His gentleness. His kindness. His shyness. All the 

parts of Benton Fraser formed into a wonderful whole that her heart 

could not resist, and it frightened her. Back then, Meg would have 

scoffed at that, but it was the simple truth. Fear stole her words 

and her breath. It made her feel like happiness and fulfillment 

would only cause her pain. She had believed the fear. 

 Now, she could not understand it. What was there to be afraid of? 

Ending up alone? Having her heart broken? She hadn't let him in, 

and it happened anyway. 

 She had turned from them--Fraser's love, which he might have 

willingly given if she had just asked, and friendship with Turnbull, 

the Rays, and even Francesca Vecchio. Meg had a picture of her. It 

was Christmas and Turnbull had brought a camera to capture the 

moment. Meg had been offered copies, which she took feigning 

reluctance. One of them was of the bright eyed Italian woman, 

grinning at the camera like she loved the world. Meg had once envied 

her ability to remain cheerful despite life's sneaky tricks and the 

love she received from those around her, but now she just wished she 

had made the effort to be her friend. 

 Meg had been in such a hurry to throw it all away. It all came down 

to one moment in time when she had to decide--stay in Chicago or take 

on the world. The little world of the Consulate seemed as nothing 

compared to the excitement otherwise offered. With her feelings 

unvoiced, Fraser had taken off with Kowalski, and so there was 

nothing left. With a tearful goodbye--on his part, not hers--Meg had 

left Turnbull and headed to Ottawa. There she resigned from the RCMP 

and became a member of CSIS. When they had asked for preferences for 

a code name, she smiled and thought of Kowalski. The Ice Queen. Oh, 

how that haunted her now. 

 The Ice Queen was a good agent, and she did everything good agents 

did. She approached her first assignment with enthusiasm and her 

second one with interest. As the years went on, her reputation and 

expertise grew, but she became hollow inside. There was so much 

hardness and hurt in the world, and she found herself longing for 

goodness in the form of Benton Fraser to come and show her the world 

was not all bad. Of course, he never did, and eventually she 

stopped hoping. It broke her heart the day she heard he'd died. 

 She was in a tent in Egypt in the Nile's dry season. Her clothes 

were damp and her hair, streaked with gray, hung limply to her 

shoulders. A young boy had run up to her, chattering in Arabic, and 

handed her a note. It was dirt stained and travel weary, and it made 

her frown. 

 The note was simple and unsigned. It said that while chasing a 

criminal across ice, it had broken. He had fallen beneath and 

drowned. Meg didn't want to believe it, and she had cherished some 

hope until she returned to Canada and it was confirmed. 

 The Ice Queen had worked ten more years, though her heart wasn't in 

it. Eventually, the Service forced her to retire. They gave her a 

nice pension and this small apartment and promptly forgot about her. 

 Coming back from the past, Meg closed her album and opened the box. 

More memories rested inside. She lived for these memories, though 

they made the longing for the other path almost unbearable. What 

would her life have been if she had held on to Fraser? If she would 

never have left Chicago? If she would have told the CSIS to shove 

their offer? She would never know. 

 The ticket stubs were so faded, the name of the movie was no longer 

visible. She remembered the name, though, and the mindless violence. 

 Most of all, she remembered a peaceful feeling of belonging that 

almost overwhelmed her as she sat contentedly with the others. 

 Her dark eyes rested on the date book next, and Meg couldn't hold 

the tears back anymore. They slowly dripped down her cheeks, 

following the creases made by a life of intrigue and loneliness. The 

mistiness of her eyes stole her vision, but in her heart she could 

see the dried daisies the pages captured. He had been willing to 

give his life to her. 

 Regret and longing filled Meg, causing her tears to deteriorate into 

sobs. It didn't matter anymore, she thought as they wracked her 

body, there was no one left to see. Even if there was, her pride had 

left her years ago. 

 She cried for a long time. When she was finally spent, she looked 

at the clock on the wall. 

 *Oh, God. It's only 3 am.* 

 The nights seemed to pass so slowly. They were the hardest. During 

the day, she could look out her windows at the people who had 

families. She became part of them for awhile. At night, all there 

was was darkness. The past came to her then, whispering her a siren 

song. She could not sleep. It must have been years since she had 

more than those little cat naps in the afternoon. Sometimes, she 

felt so weary that she wanted to curl up and let death overcome her. 

She knew this was foolish--after all, it was more fun to torture her 

by keeping her alive. 

 Well, just three hours to go. Three more hours and then she would 

have survived another night. Dawn would come and the day would be 

reborn. It would be another day she spent alone. 

 Meg carefully got up and crossed to the window. As she stared out 

into the inky blackness, she realized it was raining. The drops 

looked like tears against the glass. They were somewhat soothing, 

almost like they were falling on her soul. 

 "I always liked the rain." 

 The voice behind her made Meg jump, and she whirled. She had been 

expecting to see some armed teenager or prim social worker. The 

person she actually saw stole all the breath from her body. 

 He looked as she remembered, better than the images on the fragile 

pages of her book. His athletic body was confined in red serge and 

his light eyes looked on her with respect. 

 "Fraser?" she whispered, unable to believe her eyes. 

 "Yes, ma'am." He came forward slowly, as if afraid that he'd 

frighten her. 

 Her eyes took him in hungrily, from his dark brown hair to his dark 

brown boots. She gazed at him in silence for so long she thought 

that dawn must surely peek through her window at any 

moment. He stood watching her as well, not hurrying her, just 

waiting. 

 "Why are you here?" She winced at the sound of her voice. It was 

the Ice Queen speaking, still trying to push him away despite all she 

had learned. 

 "I've come for you." 

 "Me?" 

 "Yes, sir. You weren't meant to spend your life alone. The choices 

we made were the wrong ones." 

 She nodded in acceptance of this. After all, she'd been analyzing 

her choices for over fifteen years. There was a lot of time to think 

when you were forgotten. 

 "Am I dead then?" she asked. 

 "Well, I suppose in a few minutes your body will be what those on 

your side call dead. I learned at an early age not to trust that as 

being the final destination. Instead, it is more like moving from 

one world to another." 

 "How do I know you're not some fever soaked dream? How do I know 

you are real?" 

 He was close enough to touch her now, and he did. Fraser picked up 

one of her wrinkled hands and squeezed it gently. Meg thrilled at 

the touch, awash in the memories it evoked. 

 "I am as real as you are, Meg." 

 It was the first time he had ever used her name. She liked the way 

it sounded on his lips, almost like a song or a prayer. 

 "I..I believe you," she whispered. 

 He smiled, his face dimpling. "Good." 

 "So, you have come to get me? Why? Couldn't I just slip away here 

alone?" 

 "I couldn't let that happen. All these years I have longed to come 

to you, but it was forbidden. Now, when the veil is lifting, the 

rule has been revoked. I have come to tell you..." He paused a 

moment as if thinking, "...I have come to tell you that I love you 

Margaret Thatcher and I want you to spend eternity with me." 

 Meg was stunned. "You can't be serious." A hurt look came to his 

boyish face, so she continued, "I was nothing but mean to you. I was 

always so cold and cruel..." 

 "What about the kiss on the train?" 

 Meg closed her eyes and the memory was there. It was the first of 

their three shared kisses, and her favorite. When Fraser took her in 

his arms, time had stood still. Even now, fifty years later, 

remembering made her smile. 

 "I ordered you to forget it," she whispered. 

 "But I never did. Come with me Meg, and we will take in wonders 

together." 

 She opened her eyes and looked into his face. It was the face she 

had longed to see since they had parted so long ago. She raised a 

hand to it, not noticing that the signs of age had fallen away. 

 "You really want to be with me?" 

 "Would I have come for you if I didn't?" 

 With a wide smile, finally believing that this was not some huge 

cosmic joke, Meg embraced him. He was so solid and real, it felt 

right. 

 "It's time to go now," he told her as they broke apart. 

 He offered his hand and she took it. Together they walked through 

the window and out into the rain. Meg sighed in pleasure. She would 

never have to be alone again. 

The end